


Bonds

by niawen



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Gen, Group dynamics, Major character death - Freeform, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-26
Updated: 2014-05-26
Packaged: 2018-01-26 14:52:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1692329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/niawen/pseuds/niawen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Partial novelization of a potential situation inspired by one of my first playthroughs.  Alistair has trouble trusting the decision to include a Crow into his fold and his protective instincts could either be well placed or have disastrous consequences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bonds

Alistair watched, in what he clearly considered a surreptitious fashion, as his Grey Warden counterpart finally threw down her pack and called to set up camp. An impatient noise escaped the lips of the woman standing next to him in an I-know-exactly-what-you’re-looking-at kind of way. He shot her a filthy look despite the way his face suddenly burned with embarrassment. Morrigan rolled her eyes and went to set up her own bedroll muttering something that sounded suspiciously like ‘moony-eyed dolt’ under her breath as she went.

He watched her go without regret, a frown pulling at the corners of his lips.

“Don’t let her get to you,” a voice purred from beside him, causing Alistair to jump in surprise.

“Zevran, what do you want?” He sighed, eyeing the elf with obvious mistrust. He was, as far as Alistair was concerned, a dangerous liability to keep around why they all slept unprotected. Arienne had been completely adamant about his inclusion into the group however, once he had voiced his wish to be released into her custody after trying to cut her throat.

“Oh, chatty tonight, aren’t we?” Zevran replied slyly, an approving look in his dark face.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t particularly enjoy you sneaking up behind me and purring in my ear,” Alistair snapped sardonically

The Qunari just behind them gave a loud, drawn out sigh of irritation and moved to pitch a tent away from the pair of them. Arienne’s hulking monster of a dog, Rocco, followed Sten, loping playfully at his heels as though he was a tiny puppy.

Zevran shrugged. “I was only saying. Morrigan is bitter, so her comments follow suit.”

Alistair shrugged indifferently, his plate mail clinking softly with the movement, but Zevran simply gave him an obnoxiously enigmatic smirk and moved to help Leliana gather kindling. A whole slew of muttered-under-the-breath comebacks were simmering on his tongue, but he held it for once, opting instead to glare darkly at the back of the assassin’s head. He began the long and tremendously tedious process of taking off his armor, eager to be rid of the extra weight and the opportunity to let the sweat drain from it. A little ways away, Arienne, Sten, and Oghren were doing the same, all seemingly pleased to be able to move freely once again- aside from Sten, who never looked pleased.

It wasn’t long before a cheerfully roaring fire had been built, and a pot of something or other was simmering away. Their stomachs were so cramped with hunger that they ate like half-starved scavengers, hardly tasting the vaguely hare flavored slop. Alistair tried not to watch impatiently as, one by one, the others drifted off towards their tents. He and Arienne had started a little habit of sitting through the first two watches together, giving them the luxury of privacy in which to chat. And flirt. It was simultaneously embarrassing and wonderful. He tried to keep his impatience under control, knowing that she would think him childish and Morrigan would taunt him. He watched, resuming his sneaky eyeing, as she made her way towards Sten, who towered nearly a full two feet above her, and sighed to himself.

Arienne was a gifted diplomat, able to debate like a queen and subdue disagreements with fair and rational answers, but Alistair was not so sure that it was not without its drawbacks. For one, she trusted everyone. Which was bad. He had confronted her about Zevran’s inclusion to the group not two days earlier and while she had listened to his concerns attentively she point-blank refused to make him leave. Alistair had pointed out the obvious; that he could not be trusted and that he could murder them all while they slept. She had smiled, a little thinly, and had offered him some strange words: _Have you seen me fight, Alistair? Whether or not I trust him is hardly important._ Had she meant that she would kill him if he acted out of line? If that was the case, why was she so damned friendly with him?

He shook his head, hardly noticing as she came to sit next to him. “You seem troubled.”

His head snapped in her direction and he smiled appreciatively. “No, no. I was just thinking.”

“What have we told you about thinking?” Morrigan’s singsong voice chided through her tent.

Alistair made to stand up, but Arienne grabbed his arm, laughing. “Its okay, Alistair. What were you saying?"

Reluctantly, Alistair turned to face her. Flickering shadows danced across her round face, a slight smirk playing at her lips. “I was just thinking about when I confronted you the other night.”

“About Zevran? What worries you?”

“I want you to tell me what makes you trust him, or why you’re so unconcerned with his presence.” There. That sounded well-thought-out.

She rolled her blue eyes, her face somehow childish with the expression. “What part of my answer last time didn’t you like? Zevran does not want to be with the Crows any longer and he has sworn himself in my service.”

“Arienne,” he began in a tone that suggested he was a little disbelieving. “You can’t trust him.”

“Can’t trust who?” To Alistair’s horror, Zevran came sauntering up to the pair of them, looking cocky. “Good evening, minx,” he said silkily to Arienne, who made a tiny, derisive noise despite a small smile creeping up her face.

Alistair bristled. “Oh, what a coincidence,” he began sarcastically. “We were just talking about you.”

The elf merely smiled and took seat on Arienne’s other side. “Alistair, you paranoia is most unbecoming.”

“Oh, shut it. Smooth words won’t garner my approval,” he snapped.

Arienne raised her hands in a sign of peace. “Both of you are acting childish,” she said lightly. “Alistair, you know better than anyone how much we need the extra strength. Zevran, stop antagonizing him.”

Zevran smiled charmingly. “Forgive me.”

 “Arienne, do you really mean to say that-“

“What, that I trust him?” She cast a scrutinizing glance at the elf, who suddenly pulled a very serious expression in an effort to look more trustworthy. “He has not done anything to prove himself yet, so no. I don’t trust him. But as I told you before, it does not matter.” Alistair made to interrupt her but she cut over him. “He knows perfectly well that I am stronger than him several times over and that I have very little sympathy for betrayers and their ilk.” She suddenly looked a little menacing in the firelight, despite her short stature and round face.

Zevran leaned over his knees to address the now-pouting templar, a wicked smirk pulling at his dark lips. “She is a noble lady, is she not? Bent upon idyllic justice with the strength to back it up- magnificent!”

“You are not making a very strong argument for your case, you back-stabbing-“ Alistair began heatedly.

Arienne stood up. “Enough. We cannot function without cooperation. Zevran has not done anything to compromise his vow since I spared him. Until he does, he is our comrade, Alistair. And if he does,” she said loudly as the templar opened his mouth to argue still, “retribution will be swift, and likely violent.” She stalked back to her tent, her irritation evident in the tension of her shoulders.

Alistair watched her go with a sense of disappointment washing over him. He had been looking forward to talking alone with her all day. His eyes narrowed as he shot Zevran a filthy look, which was returned with an arrogant smile. “I can see why you flirt so shamelessly with her,” he purred, looking maddeningly smug.

“Oh, you’re one to talk,” he muttered darkly.

“I flirt shamelessly with everyone,” he replied shrugging. “You don’t compliment her enough, if you were looking for some advice.”

Alistair wrinkled his nose. “I wasn’t.”

“Well, pity. You need it.” Zevran shot him a dazzling smile, overflowing with arrogance, and left.

***

The streets of Denerim were filthy, covered in a layer of gray so lined with muck that the whole scene was rather depressing. The companions travelled quietly, bad moods radiating off them like visible auras. Alistair worst of all, which was a rare thing. Arienne tried not to look at him as she lead her advance party deeper towards the elven alienage, knowing that there was nothing she could do for him at the moment. In a rather charming oversight, due in equal parts to naivety and wishful thinking, Alistair had begged her to accompany him to see his sister who turned out to be not only a bitter, resentful wretch misdirecting her anger, but also a screeching harpy who had ran the pair of them out of her hovel spewing insults after them. The whole ordeal had put Alistair in a snappy, irritable mood for the last few hours and conversation was scarcer for it.

Not that the other party members were much inclined to talk. Sten was his usual, silent self, looming threateningly behind their small group and glaring darkly at Arienne whenever she made eye contact with him. He abhorred getting sidetracked, she knew, but she needed his strength in Denerim. There were many parties here who would love to see her head impaled on a stake. Zevran was also uncharacteristically quiet, trailing along next to her in Alistair’s stead, as the templar was too busy muttering darkly to himself a few feet behind her.

As they rounded a corner, a small group of men emerged from the shadows to block their passage. Senses sharpening, Arienne slowly began to reach for her sword and dagger. A man, clearly the leader indicated by a richness to his armor the other did not possess, leapt lightly from the shadows onto a squat stone railing. “I’m almost surprised to see you, Zevran. Almost.”

Arienne’s eyes darted to the elf, who appeared as taken aback as the rest of them. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his dark forehead but his eyes remained focused the new man. “Talesin. I knew it would only be a matter of time.”

The man called Talesin gave the comrades an ominous smirk. “How like you Zevran, doing whatever it takes to survive.”

Arienne saw Zevran blanch slightly but regained his composure almost too quickly. “I am an assassin, remember?”

Alistair and Sten’s hands drifted towards their weapons, unsure how to react.

“Come back to the Crows, I will make up some tale to cover your arse. The Gray Wardens still need slaying, though. Care to help?” Talesin said, in a purr much harsher and rougher than Zevran’s. He drew his blade. And so did Zevran.

“You lying son of a bitch!” Alistair bellowed as the Crows closed in on them and the battle went under way. Zevran danced out of the way of his heavy sword, letting several lower ranked rogues occupy the templar’s actions. Sten broke from the melee to confront Talesin with wide, terrifying arcs of his bright blade.

“Hold back,” Arienne called to the other two, bringing her sword and dagger together against two men backing her into a stone wall. There was something about the pinched look in Zevran’s face as he ducked past Alistair again that made her hesitate, somehow able to sense the panic in the elf’s usually smooth countenance. She shoved past her assailants to confront him, hoping she could make sense of this situation before someone got hurt. It was plain now, now that she had looked. Zevran had no idea what to do, he did not want to hurt them but he did not know how to resist Talesin. The elf did not raise a blade to anyone as he darted through the fray as Arienne had seen him do thousands of times before. He was trying not to fight.

She grabbed his arm and spun him round with undue force, causing him to pitch sideways. Her dagger hovered at his throat, her eyes calm despite the cacophony of sword strikes and grunts around them. “Zevran, let me help.”

His own blade, lightening quick, batted hers away and his hands impacted against her shoulders roughly, sending her careening against the alley wall. She vaguely heard Alistair yell her name in a panic as he struggled against three men. Her eyes cracked open and saw Zevran staring at her coldly, his dagger point poking at her throat. “Don’t do this Zevran,” she said quietly, never taking her eyes off him.

“Choices have been a rare luxury,” he replied in a shaky whisper.

“You doubt my strength.” Her face still calm, round cheeks spattered with blood.

“In the shadow of the Crows? Yes, I doubt it very much.” His hand shook tremulously. Sweat beaded on his brown and a shadow of his usually smirk pulled at his dark lips. “I am sorry, minx. I will regret this later.”

The dagger reeled back and she did not blink, still thinking he would not attack her.

“Arienne!” Alistair roared from right behind the elf. Zevran was jerked backwards violently as Alistair wheeled the other around to face him. A gauntleted hand slammed against the side of the elf’s face, sending him spinning to the ground in a whirl of blood, his nose broken and already flowing. “You gutless bastard! After everything she’s done for you!”

“Alistair, no!” She was panicked now, pushing herself off the wall to try and stop him. The templar bent down and hoisted Zevran roughly to his feet, shaking him like a ragdoll in the process. Lashing wildly, Zevran hit Alistair in the face with pommel of his dagger, staggering the taller, bulkier human and causing a streak of blood to slide down his sweaty cheek.

Arienne, having watched her comrades fight for weeks now, knew what was going to happen a moment before it did. She plunged forward, screaming for Alistair to stop, but her words seemed to fall on deaf ears. Alistair threw Zevran to the ground with all his might, the elf actually bounced slightly with the impact, his skull rocking against the stone. In one clean movement, Alistair took his sword in both hands, and the point fell, catching beautifully in the afternoon sun. It plunged through Zevran’s chest, meeting little resistance under Alistair’s strong guidance.

“NO!”

Arienne was unable to slow down in time, and knocked up against Alistair, their armor clanking loudly. She dropped to her knees, knowing the wound was fatal without more than an instant’s study. She stared at him, and he gasped raggedly, his chest heaving with the effort. The three of them remained still, even as Sten finished Talesin with a sweeping arc that nearly cut the man in two. Zevran did not speak as his breaths became weak and shallow, though his lips curled faintly into a smirk even despite the small trail of blood leaking out the corner. His fingers twitched against her hand and he left them, his eyes sliding half-shut and his chest stilling.

Her eyes burned fiercely as the remaining assassin’s fled, and she had to raise one of her hands after a moment to clear the tears pouring down her face. Alistair put a hand on her shoulder.

“He didn’t want to fight us,” she whispered in a hollow rasp, her shoulders shaking.

Alistair did not reply immediately, watching as Sten wiped his blade clean and stalked over to them. “He really was going to kill you, Arienne. I know you don’t want to believe it…”

She stood up, the easy emotion of anger overriding her grief. “He thought he was trapped!” she retorted, her eyes flashing. “He thought we couldn’t save him!”

Sten came to stand behind Alistair, looking displeased at her emotional outburst but there was an undeniable flicker of sympathy in his cold face. “He made his decision,” he rumbled in consolation, “Alistair had to make his. It is the way of things.”

Arienne gave a shuddering gasp and covered her face again. “You can’t save everyone,” Alistair said gently, putting his arms around her shoulders and pulling her close.

“I could have saved him.”

He did not reply immediately. She cried for a few moments longer, and Alistair was suddenly struck by the sheer emotionality of the display as Arienne had always been as stoic and as ready to fight as the most seasoned of them.

“Let us take her back to the estate so she can gather herself,” Sten said suddenly, watching the two of them with an odd mixture of disgust and sympathy. “This has been hard on her.”

Reluctantly, Alistair nodded. “I guess you’re right. Come on, Arienne.” He pulled her away from the corpse of Zevran, casting one last exasperated look at the body of their comrade.


End file.
